pre-op tuesday

Preston and I went to UK Gynecology for my pre-op appointment this afternoon. We were both nervous, and I think he might have been a bit more nervous than I was. Plus, both of us went in blind, not knowing exactly what we were going to be doing, not knowing exactly what to expect. I mean, we knew there was going to be lab work and paperwork. What we didn’t know was how much and of what and where. And if the surgeon was going to flip out and say, “Oh, hell no. I changed my mind.” That last was my biggest worry. Although if she had, I’d have just marched down the hall and found my OB/GYN and dragged her back to the surgeon with me. That would have taken care of that!

I took along my list of physicians and my list of medications to the appointment, so that helped. What I left at home somehow was my list of my medical history! Of all things to leave behind! Sitting here going over my list now, though, I remembered everything. Probably because the last two years, I’ve gone over it and over it. And the last month I’ve gone over it and over it. I think by now I might know my own history as well as I do Thomas’ – which is a good thing.

The nurse and the surgeon both kept saying they were giving me mountains of paperwork to read and fill out and sign, but Preston and I both agreed that I was given maybe a fourth of what we expected. I filled out a complete medical history, had blood drawn, got weighed, had my blood pressure taken, and read and signed the consent form.

Talking to Dr Midboe-Penn is always fun. She tends to speak a little loud, so I always feel like I’m three and have a hearing problem when I’m around her. But she’s a great doctor and very thorough.

I found out we’re not doing a DaVinci after all. We’re doing a Total Laparoscopic Hysterectomy, which is similar, it’s just not robotic. I guess she and Dr Rone changed their minds? That was a bit disappointing, but it’s her choice what type of surgery she thinks is the best for me. Regardless, it’s still basically the same, and the recovery period and all of that is similar. We discussed the c-section I had twenty-one years ago when I had Tayler; we all agreed that my vertical incision is absolutely insane and uncalled for. If for some reason the TLH doesn’t work the way she wants it to – ie, if they get in there and there are problems – then she’ll be making a new incision via my c-section scar. I said, “It’s already there. It’s already fucked up. You might as well use it if you have to.” I thought Preston was going to throw up.

Then we got to have an in-depth discussion about my ovaries. She said she generally recommends the woman keep them but likes for the woman also to have a say in what happens. I told her that I’d rather while she was already in there just to go ahead and take absolutely everything she could – leaving my dysfunctional cervix for the pelvic floor support. She agreed with me. That way, if they were in anyway causing any of my problems, they’re gone. Also, if there’s a chance, and there is, they could act up later, they’re gone. So I don’t have to worry about that – because there’s not going to be anything in there to worry about.

I asked about an abdominal binder, and she said she doesn’t recommend them. She said it’s better for the incisions to stay open to the air. And she agreed with Preston that one might likely put unnecessary pressure on my sciatic, which would be one of the last things I need during recovery. I said, “I made it through my c-section without one anyway,” and she laughed.

Also on the consent form, I signed the consent for my uteri pieces (that’s what Dr Midboe-Penn called them too!) to be sent to any current uteri studies.

One part of the consent form, she said, “There’s supposed to be a sketch here of what we’ll be doing, but I’m not drawing it. I can’t draw for shit, so we’re skipping that part. You know what it looks like and what’s leaving, and that’s what’s important.”

The hospital will call and let me know if they need to do an EKG or a chest x-ray or whatever else and will let me know what time I have to be at the hospital Monday morning. Although my surgeon said that we should go ahead and plan for between 5am and 5:30am, which I had already figured and planned on.

So that’s all done and taken care of! She said once I’m actually in surgery, it shouldn’t take more than two hours if it takes that long. She said they’re really quick. I’ll stay only one night if all goes well. But if she has to do an abdominal after all, then she said she always gives the woman the choice (if the woman is well enough) whether to spend a second night or not. I told her I screwed myself up not putting my foot down and not taking care of myself when Tayler was born and said if it came to it, I’d likely take the second night.

About a month ago, I was digging around reading about the DaVinci and ran across the HysterSisters forum. Hilarious name, but it’s a group full of wonderful people. When I first found it, I was afraid it was going to be full of sob stories about women who were afraid their lives were over because they wouldn’t be home women any more after their surgery. There’s some of that, but the rest of the group tends to stomp that out. They basically tell them to get over themselves and get on with it. There’s bunches of pre-op and post-op advice over there. It’s a great place, and I’m glad I found it. It’s so funny: they call the hospital “the castle”.

Also, for shits and giggles and fun times, I created an After Surgery Wishlist. I’ve been stuffing it full of things to both help me and keep me amused during my recovery period. It’s been successful so far. I’ve received two books and a couple other goodies.

At one point while Dr Midboe-Penn was gone from the exam room, Preston snapped a picture of me with his phone. He said I looked maniacal, but this is me blissfully happy!

mari at pre-op

wednesday was family doctor day

Yesterday morning I had to get up early to be on the 7am bus to get to Kentucky Clinic for an 8am appointment. It had originally been scheduled for about the same day in July but at 1pm, and the way our weather had been, I wasn’t going anywhere that time of day for anybody unless they were losing body parts at an alarming rate (or in case of zombie apocalypse). Neither happened, so that’s good. I just called and rescheduled the appointment, and a month later is what she had open.

One cool thing about UK Healthcare is they finally are moving to electronic records/charts/etc.  My family doctor and I got to pull up both my paper chart and my e-chart yesterday morning. Interesting read, even if we did know everything in it already. It’s neat because any department I travel to in the UK system can pull up the same chart and so have all of my information. She printed me off a summary report, and I”m going to go through it for changes/mistakes to update to take with me when I go back in December. (We both lol’d when we saw my OB/GYN team had listed “dysfunctional uterine bleeding”. I said, “Well, that’s not what I’d call it, but it fits.”)

She gave me an official diagnosis yesterday of “benign essential hypertension”, which we’d been leaning toward since I’d met her last December, anyway – and also what my therapist and OB/GYN thought. BES just means that it’s not causing symptoms or damage and that it’s more than likely come due to genetics and not because I have something that’s causing it. I asked her if I could be tested for asthma, and we ran down my symptoms – including my breathing sometimes sounding and feeling like my lungs are over-full with bendy-straws.. Right now, she’s not fiddling with my beta blocker or diuretic. Also, she said she didn’t want to fiddle around with asthma. Instead she gave me a list of OTC allergy medications to choose from, leaning toward Allegra, and said we’d work the “chronic allergies” angle for right now – after she listened to my lungs and said they were clear as a bell. She said with me having surgery (in eleven days!), she didn’t want to mess with anything just to see how I came out the other side and how I recovered. She didn’t want to add anything that might screw with that and didn’t want to increase or decrease anything for the same reason.

My blood pressure was high. It had been running lower all year. We both think that the stress of Preston being out of work, the anxiety of my surgery coming up, and genetics are at play here. She wants to see how I’m doingafter I have my hysterectomy.

I see her again around the first of December. She said, “I want you to be healed up as well as possible from your surgery before I see you again and we go any further with anything else.”

She’s wonderful. I’ve been so blessed with such a wonderful medical team at UK. I wish I could get them all together in a single room and give them all a huge, warm group huge! (and individual hugs, too!)

the two week countdown

Disclaimer: I don’t generally do disclaimers. I figure, people take me as I am or they don’t take me. But this post probably isn’t for people with weak stomachs and / or who don’t want to hear about my uterus and other girlie parts.


The usual default response when I tell people I’m having a hysterectomy is, “Oh, I’m so sorry!” This is the response I receive from people who either don’t know me or don’t know me as well as I thought. It’s disheartening. Why? Because I thought people knew me better.

As if that weren’t enough, I also get a lot of, “Aren’t you scared?” and “You’re awfully happy.” Both of which only further my point.

I’ve said this shy of almost two years. Don’t be sorry. Be happy. I’m not in the least bit sorry or scared, and anybody who knows me knows this and knows why. Anyone who’s been following this or who’s known me even longer should know how I feel about this, what my life has been like because of it, etc and so forth. It just astounds me that anyone could follow all of this, even talk with me about it, then still be shocked that I’m so happy about it.

I’ve said this before, but I’m saying it again. This is something I’ve needed medical help with since I was thirteen. Let’s do the math. That’s thirty years of my life. Thirty years. I’ll be forty-four in February, and this mess is something I’ve lived with since March 1982. Thirty years. That’s the last five years of my childhood and all of my adulthood.

At one point when I was fourteen or fifteen, I overheard Mommy tell our neighbor I have “really heavy periods”, and she should tell my pediatrician. She followed that up with, “But I don’t know what they could do.” (Just remember, this was the early 1980s). So I thought I was stuck with it. Stuck with the overflow, the pain, the nausea, the headaches, the vomiting, the severe bloating, the diarrhea, and everything else. Some of everything else: stained sheets, stained bedclothes, stained mattresses, stained towels, stained clothes, having to have someone pick me up from school because of the mess, and so much more. People would tell me what I was going through was normal or that I was exaggerating to get attention. I damned well knew better. I knew something in my system wasn’t right. But I couldn’t find anybody who gave a damn enough to help me.

Then, when I was twenty, I got pregnant with Thomas. People plied me with all the myths about pregnancy. You’ll feel the best you’ve ever felt. Your cramps won’t be as bad after you have a child. Your periods won’t be as bad. You won’t remember any of the pain. The happiest part of those nine months (eighteen if you count Tayler as well, when I twenty-two) was that I wasn’t pouring blood and throwing up all over myself and my environment. People lie to make themselves – and you – feel better, even when all parties know it’s all bullshit.

Don’t get me wrong. I love Thomas and Tayler both beyond the darkest depths of the core of my soul. But nothing anybody told me would happen after my boys were born ever happened. Except the loving them part. I know exactly how bad my labor and delivery pains were. Tayler was a cesarean section because he was full breech and couldn’t be delivered; I’ve lived with physical and emotional pain from that for twenty-one years. It’s a blog post all by itself, and I promise one day I’ll write it. My cramps and my periods both got exponentially worse after Thomas was born then got even worse after I had Tayler.

After my boys were born, people tried to tell me, “It gets better as you get older.” It never did. It just kept getting worse and worse.

Even with all the pain I’d been through, I’d never been one of the type who go to bed with her periods. Starting somewhere in 2004 – I’m not really sure; maybe 2003 – I started being one of that type. I just couldn’t handle it any more and admitted to myself that I had to stay in bed. So I did. And I would lay there crying I hurt so bad. My periods would last seven to tend days and would overflow an OB Ultra tampon every three hours – even overnight. I didn’t know until two years ago that women aren’t supposed to bleed like that overnight, that usually the flow slows down while we sleep. Mine never have. I’ve slept with a towel for thirty years – two towels the last two years; one between my legs and a beach towel doubled beneath me (sometimes I have one beach towel above the fitted sheet and one beneath it).

Although I thought it wouldn’t help, I started keeping track of my periods on My Monthly Cycles around this time, too. I’ve always been so random, so irregular I never thought of trying to keep a record. But something told me I needed to, so I did – until April of this year. I found out my cycle was usually ten days every twenty to twenty-five days. And everyone wondered why I was chronically anemic. Go figure. Sometimes I could go thirty, thirty-five, forty days between. Thing was, I never knew if it’d b fifteen days or forty-five. I never knew if it would last four days or fifteen. Even keeping a record, I never could tell. My cycle was just that random.

In August 2010, things started getting incredibly stupid. Not only was my cycle that random, I also started having hot flashes, night sweats, and other menopause symptoms. My periods in August and September 2010 were normal for me. Except that I started going through an OB Ultra tampon once every two hours. In October, I had two that lasted four days each and were separated by twenty days. Twenty days later, I had another that lasted four days.

I didn’t start again until December 30, forty-five days later. I didn’t stop until January 14. I had a three day respite, then bled for two days, then had a nine day respite. I started again on the twenty-seventh and didn’t stop until the fifth. I stopped for twelve days. My record for February through June 2011 is just ridiculous. With the exception of five days, I bled all through the month of May. The entire month.

January 26 (2011), while I was doing laundry, I stood up to check a dryer, and blood went everywhere. Our laundry is about one football field minus the end zones from our apartment. I’ve had bad blowouts since I was thirteen, at school even; I’d gotten used that when I’d rise from sitting or lying, I’d flow like Niagara. This was normal. Gods forbid I sneeze. But to have this happen where I had to walk home? I was humiliated. And my son Thomas still lived with us at the time and was home, and I had to yell from the front door for him to shut his bedroom door so I could get to my bathroom. A truewalk of shame. That day and the day before, I was changing tampons every forty-five minutes.

The next afternoon is when Preston and I went to the emergency room at UK to see what was going on before I bled to death. I outlined all of this in this post. The doctor prescribed a week’s worth of Provera, which seemed to help. It slowed me down, but it didn’t stop. I still spotted and threw enormous blood clots. I saw a wonderful OB/GYN on February 23 – the soonest I could get in. She and I discussed hysterectomy, and after I left a blood clot bigger than my hand on her exam room floor and blood all over the exam table, she wouldn’t let me leave without a Mirena.

Also – and I don’t think I recorded this anywhere – I found out at least part of why I bleed like I do. My cervix stays dilated. Because of this and my heavy flow, my OB/GYN wasn’t sure the Mirena would stay in place. She expected me to be back in her exam room in a week saying the device had been lost. My cervix stays dilated about the size of my pinky finger. That’s just shy of one centimeter. This explains a hell of a whole lot, I think.

I guess the Mirena did its job in June and July, right up to August 6. I started a twelve day period. A week later, I started a thirteen day period. The blessing to this was that I was able to use Kotex regular tampons and a pantyliner. I’d neverused regular tampons in my life. Going to buy them was a whole new experience for me.

Then October was all over the map. Two days, three days, four, five. And not necessarily in that order. November was much the same, and I got really discouraged. But then I didn’t have a period from November 30 through December 27. Then I bled through almost all of January. Again. I had a thirty-three day break from January 29 to February 23. After that, everything went to hell in a hand basket. But I was depressed, in denial, and didn’t want to deal with it. I put off seeing my wonderful doctor until April. She just looked at me and said, “I think that big fat thing just wants to come out,” and sent me down the hall to talk with the woman who would become half of my surgery team.

So. That’s all of that. Again.

I went over most of this in my original post early last year. And have discussed this over and over again.

Yet people still come to me whether in person, on the phone, in texts, or online and tell me, “I’m so sorry,” because I have to have a hysterectomy!?

I just don’t get it. I mean, in a way, I do. But in that way, it’s as maddening as it is distressing. If you know me, you know what a blessing this is! You know how miserable my life has been. Thank the gods and all that’s holy I have an OB/GYN who stresses quality of life over quantity.

See, I’ve never defined who I am by what’s inside or what’s outside of my body. I know women who do. They base their self-esteem and their identity on the size of their breasts, the flatness of their stomachs, the organs between their legs, and their ability to deliver litters of children. I don’t understand them. That’s one mentality that’s never made sense to me.

We’re all so much more than the sum of our parts.

Now some of you are thinking, “Weren’t you anorexic through your teens?” Yes. Yes, I was. But for me, that was less of a self-esteem/identity issue and more of a “If I stop eating and eventually just disappear into the ethers, no one will ever notice or care anyway” issue. Some won’t/don’t recognize a difference there. My therapist and I do. The people who know me do. The people who matter do.

These same people who understand my past anorexia also understand why I’ve begged and pleased for thirty years to get rid of this horrible thing that’s done nothing but wreck my life and my body and my mind; this thing has damaged both my physical and psychological health.

Yet people want to know why I’m happy to get rid of it.

The other day, I was sitting here talking to Preston about all of this. He looked at me and asked, “Are you okay? You have big fat tears in your eyes.” I giggled. I said, “I’m happy. No. I’m relieved. When I wake up later in the day on the twentieth, all of this will be over. Over. This thing in my body will be gone, and all of this pain and bleeding and bullshit will be over!” So I sat there and allowed myself to be happy and relieved and to cry all those happy tears! Preston thought I’d gone hysterical (no pun intended there). But he joined me. He’s happy and relieved for me that all of this is going away.

And he’s happy and relieved for himself that all of this is going away!

My therapist and I have discussed since April how this is going to affect my psychological health once the surgery is all healed. (I’m having a da Vinci hysterectomy. It looks cool as all hell!) I’ve sat here writing these last few paragraphs and having to stop because I can’t see to write through my tears. As rotten as this thing has made me feel for three-quarters of my life, I’m ecstatically happy and blessed and grateful for the surgery. I want to kiss my OB/GYN and both of my surgeons on the mouth for giving me this. (I’ll send them nice thank you cards later!)

I’ve bled pretty much constantly since the middle of April. No breaks. I’ve not been able to get into the pool all summer or take walks or much anything else. Over the course of July, things got bad again. I’m bleeding around the clock with no let up. I’m also overflowing again. The only difference between today and two years ago is that instead using the OB Ultra tampons and a Kotex maxi pad (and still flooding like Niagara every forty-five minutes), I’m soaking a Kotex regular tampon and a Carefree pantyliner once every four hours. I have endless gratitude for my Mirena for that. It may not have done what my OB/GYN and I hoped it would, but it gave me some relief that I hadn’t had before I got it. A blessing all its own. I hate to think what I’d be like without it.

So. I said all of that so I can say this.

Don’t feel sorry for me, people. Please. Be happy with me!

You’ve not lived inside my mind and body. I’ve had no choice. This surgery is a wonderful, blessed thing, and I want to sing my happiness from the rooftops! Be grateful along with me that I’m finally getting somereal relief and some freedom and some peace in my life after thirty years of misery. Things I’ve never had in full.

When I wake up August 20, my health, my life, is going to be a new place. To know I can sleep through the night on clean, stain-free sheets without worrying I’ll wake up in a pool of my own blood. To know I won’t have to sleep with a two beach towels beneath me and a bath towel between my legs. To know I can leave the house without needing to fill my handbag with panties, tampons, liners, and plastic storage bags. To know I can leave the house without worrying I’ll bleed all over myself while I’m gone. To know I can buy panties and know they won’t be ruined with blood stains in a couple of months. To know I’ll be able to sit down and not have to worry I’m going to bleed all over everything.

And so, so much more.

So much more.

I know most of you can’t begin to indulge the weight that’s gone from my shoulders, from my psyche already. I can’t begin to describe it. Tremendous, tremendous relief. Gratitude. Joy. I don’t have enough words, phrases, or expressions proper enough to come even somewhat close to what I already feel.

I see my family doctor August 8 for a follow-up from the last time I saw her in early January. I can’t wait to tell her about my surgery!

I see Dr Penn, the main half of my surgical team, for my pre-op August 14. Preston is going with me, my advocate, so he can be there when she tells me what ll we need to do before and after, what happens during, and while I sign all the paperwork. I carry a notebook to all of my appointments, but I know it will help Preston (and me) if he’s there with me through all of this. After I see Dr Penn, then I wait six more days.

My will, my living will, and my house are all in order.

When I wake up August 20, it will all be over.

 august calendar

won’t you be my wombmate?

From my friend Rain Adkins:


10. Get ALL the pieces and pound a tiny stake thru each.

9. Reassemble the parts and get the whole thing bronzed.

8. Mail a piece to everyone who kept you from getting the surgery, with taunts written on the boxes.

7. Mail the whole thing to Mitch “The Misogynator” McConnell,telling him what he can do with it.

6. Buy a spud gun; take it and the reassembled organ to a skeet shoot. Wait till someone shouts “Pull!”

5. Bury the pieces far from home and plant brambles so the fucker can’t rise again.

4. Offer the rebuilt item on eBay for $10,000 because, face it, someone somewhere will bite.

3. Have a party; invite people you hate. Serve canapes. Make sure they ask for the recipe, then point and laugh.

2.Feed the carp.


1. Two words: Viking funeral.

surgery “go” for august

I do apologize for not posting this sooner, but I’ve been either busy, babysitting, or tired. Better late than never, yes?

I had to get up before the sun Friday morning because my appointment was at 8:30. Then I sat here and waffled over taking either the 7:30 bus or the 8am bus. I opted for the 8am so I wouldn’t have to stand outside waiting for the building to open. Now I’ve been to this clinic enough since February of last year that they’ve learned my face when I come in; eventually I’m sure they’ll know my name when they see me, too. I had to wait a little bit longer than I usually would have – the surgeon I was there to see hadn’t arrived by my appointment time.

He came in, young* and very friendly; he asked questions, and he listened well – and took a lot of notes. Mostly I was there so we could meet each other. He needed to know what’s going on with my body, and we had to make the decision of what needed to be done and how (which also determined the hospital). He said, “I’ve read through your chart, but we’re going to go through it together.” Good thing I’ve only been at that clinic since February of last year. Even so, I do have a good, detailed history in there. He said, “I’ll read and ask questions, and you can give me the details.”

And we did. I admit, I was nervous going in there. I was afraid of a repeat of the yelling and screaming I had with Dr Penn a few weeks ago. I was all prepared to scream and yell some more and demand to have Dr Dillon come in and tell him a thing or three – preferably with Dr Penn in tow so she could hear all of it, too. But I never had to raise my voice even one time. He asked questions, and I gave him all the details. Maybe too many in some places, but he did take copious notes the whole way through, so I saw that as a plus. He made sure he understood everything I was telling him.

Why can’t all medical professionals be like this? Hey world, take note of this!

Then we got down to the nitty gritty. He asked me, “Why are you pushing so hard to have a hysterectomy.”

I thought, Well, here we go, and braced myself for an argument that never happened. So I plunged in, let him have it, told him exactly how I feel and why. I told him I’m tired of quick fixes, that it seems like that’s all I’ve ever had, that I can’t keep living like this, that I was done having babies twenty-one years ago, my tubes have been tied for twenty-one years, Preston and I have been together for twenty years. I just went on like I had complete diarrhea of the mouth. But it’s all true. I’m sick of all the pain and the blood and shouldn’t have ever had to have lived with it as long as I have.

Then he looked up at me with one eye almost closed, the other eyebrow raised high, and a half-smile on his face, and said, “I guess we’re not going to talk about ablation, then.”

I said, “No, we’re not.”

He said, “Okay, then we need to see what kind of hysterectomy we’re doing, right?”

I said, “I’m not leaving here without that.”

We smiled at each other.

He and I discussed the DaVinci robotic hysterectomy, which I mentioned before as being what Dr Penn thought would be the easiest on my system. He and Dr Penn have apparently discussed this together and both agree on that. Dr Penn is going to assist this surgeon so she can get more training with the robot. (yay, i’m a guinea pig!) The surgery is scheduled at UK Hospital on the morning of August 20th. I won’t be able to give anyone an exact time I’ll be going in until I see Dr Penn again on August 14th. But it’s all settled now, and now all I can do is sit and twiddle my thumbs for two months.


* i found out today via web search that he’s 34. he’s been out of school completely only two years.

tentative appointments and surgery dates

I finally heard back from Robin, my surgeon’s nurse, yesterday afternoon. She hadn’t called me because she’d been out of the office and apologized that no one had cared to let me know each time I’d called last week and this.

We sat on the phone together for twenty-five minutes trying to cobble together a schedule. Being summertime and everyone going on vacation, and two surgeons wanting to work together on this (go me and my “unique vagina”!), scheduling was a pain. Trying to find a time when both surgeons are available at the same hospital about drove Robin nuts – and me too – she even said that going through the book was making her ready to pull her hair out. And to boot, the current book goes up only to August 20th. Which, guess what, was empty.

I have an appointment next Friday, June 8th, with Dr Rone, so he can meet me and discuss my issues, etc, etc. Then I have pre-op appointments with both him and Dr Midboe-Penn on August 14th. The hysterectomy is scheduled for August 20th.

The reason all of this is tentative. Robin said that Midboe-Penn had recorded clearly in my record that she wants to be there for the surgery and that she recommends the new robotic surgery. It will be less invasive and much better on me – especially given the condition and placement of my c-section scar. (She already ruled out a vaginal surgery, unless Dr Rone decides otherwise when he sees me next week.) Now, if they can do a vaginal removal, I can have that done at Good Samaritan and with no complications be in and out overnight – and possibly can have this done later in June or some time in July. If they opt for the DaVinci, we have to go with the August date, and that surgery has to be done at the new UK hospital.

Meanwhile, I created a new Chipin. I’m going to need money to cover these appointments, for follow-up, medications, and all that wonderful stuff one needs before, during, and after surgery. And also for Preston-care during surgery. I hope he’s not alone at the hospital, whichever one it is, during the surgery, but even if he is, he’s going to need money for meals and possibly enough to keep him a bit entertained. If I’m at Good Samaritan, he can take a break and walk across the street to Jimmy John’s, Pazzo’s, Fazoli’s, Hugh Jass Burgers, or whatever for food, and to Sqecial to keep himself busy, buy me an ‘I love you so much it hurts’ card, and stuff like that. If he’s at the new hospital, he can order Jimmy John’s, use their internet, go to one of the two gift shops for cards and flowers, and so on and so forth.

Also, we will need money for cab fare to get me home. We don’t have a car, and there’s no way I will be able to walk from the bus stop to the apartment after I’m released from the hospital. (Hospital to bus stop probably wouldn’t be a problem; they’re all close together. But bus stop to apartment is a bit of a hike, unfortunately.) Come to that, depending on what time they want me at the hospital, I may need cab fare there, as well. If they want me there at 6am, I will definitely need to cab to the hospital – the first bus out of our neighborhood doesn’t run until 5:53, and I don’t want to be late to the surgery I’ve fought tooth and nail for twenty years for!

All of you helped me get a new computer and pay the deposit on my surgery. Now I’m asking for help again. With Preston out of work, we just can’t cover all of this by ourselves. I created a Chipin with a $250 goal. That’s an estimate. I’m hoping that’s a very high estimate. But perhaps if I don’t need that much, I can get myself something extra-special later? (hey, Loreen, a housecoat and a gown to match my house shoes?) I love and appreciate every single one of you. You’re all my angels. And I can’t thank you enough for all of the help, and love, and support y’all have already given me. If I could hug each one of you in person, I would!

i need a hysterectomy

And most of you are probably looking at that and thinking, “Duh, we know you and know that.” But here’s what you don’t know. I’m pasting in a note I sent around via e-mail and Facebook, and please excuse the lack of caps use. As I stated in the note, I hesitated to start another ChipIn, but I did it anyway; the link is at the bottom. Also, if you’d like to copy my widget to your website, please use this link. (by the way, Preston said my note sounded pitiful lol)

i called robin, the surgeon’s nurse, back *again* this morning because i’d never heard from her. she called me about half an hour ago and said that the clinic can’t schedule my hysterectomy until i pay a deposit. (i have medical financial aid through UK because i don’t qualify for medicaid and preston couldn’t ever afford to add me to his insurance) she said the medical aid office should have called me, and i told her that this is the first time i’d heard from anybody since connie called me on the tenth. she told me who to call and gave me the direct number.

i called and left a message, which seems to be what my life is made of any more – leaving messages.

shannon called me back, and we talked, and she said she hadn’t even received my paperwork until half an hour before. i checked the call log on my phone – that would have been when i talked to robin and around the time i left the message for shannon. anyway, shannon pulled up my records and said that i have to pay a $470 deposit. we discussed that and when my aid expires, and she told me to keep her number, etc, etc.

so i’ve sat here and absolutely bawled and have given myself a killer headache in the process, of course. i have no idea where we’re going to find $470.

i did that chip-in thing for my new computer last month so i’m very hesitant to turn around and start another one for something that’s this serious.

any suggestions, advice, help any of y’all can give me/us would be a blessing. otherwise, the way things looks, this is something i’m just going to be stuck with for the rest of my life. i just want to sit and scream.

eta 5/22/2012:

I realized as I was getting ready for bed last night that a lot of you probably aren’t privy to my medical history and what all this hysterectomy actually entails and how far back my problems go.

As for how far back, this is something I’ve been dealing with since I was thirteen. I’ve been begging for a hysterectomy since I was twenty and had Thomas. No one was ever willing to give me one (for a host of reasons that belong in their own post, which I swear I’m going to write one day (along with about my c-section with Tayler).

Until last year in February when I met the OB/GYN I have now. She told me point blank, “It needs to come out and has needed to come out.” But I was bleeding all over her exam room, and she fitted me with a Mirena hoping that would at least give me some temporary relief. I blogged about all of that in three posts last year. The first one is rather graphic, so if you have a squicky stomach, it’s probably best if you just skip it.

The links below will open in a new window/tab. And as you can see, that last link is no longer relevant. We thought the Mirena was doing its job, but it failed around my birthday this year in February. It’s still in place; it’s just not working. The plan is to remove it along with my uterus when I have surgery.